The Switch
by TLCar1
Summary: This is a story about a girl who had it all to the outside world. But behind closed doors, she lived a life full of secrets. After years of hiding behind a new name, will one submissive be able to break down her walls before her heart is locked away with the rest of her secrets. Delena, rated M for sex, adult content and BDSM.
1. No place like home

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to any of the characters used in this story. However this story line is solely mine.

**Notes:** This is a human story, rated M. This story is about BDSM but not filled with it. If you're not into reading BDSM then this story is not for you.

**Summary:** Elena Sommers had the life that most young girls would dream of, to the outside world. It's amazing the secrets that can be kept from the outside but you can't keep them from yourself. Leaving her family and their secrets in the past, Elena Sommers becomes Lena Gilbert. Now that she's older, her secrets have changed. How far will she go to keep them hidden from the one person who's trying to break down all her walls?

**Please read:** If you have already read this story or if you are following this story, please know that I worked really hard and rewrote the first chapter. So, when the second chapter updates it will be a chapter that you have already read. I work with a story editor and rewrote the story from the present and Damon's POV. Please, please please take the time to read my story. This is what I want to do. I'm taking classes, reading extra books and studying other people's writing style. Just read it, review, and tell me where I can improve. Don't be mean or hateful. But it makes it easier for me to better my writing skills if you leave you honest opinion. Almost a hundred reads, only 2 reviews and 8 follows. I need to know what I'm doing wrong. Thank you for your time. Have a fanfiction fabulous day

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Chapter one

No Place like Home

I pace the long narrow aisles of the gallery. I take in all the lights that reflect upon where my paintings will soon hang. I sit, stand, and move from one end of the gallery to the other, inspecting every angle, tilt of the head, and direction that the painting would be viewed from. I check to make sure that the lights that will soon mirror my paintings are perfect.

I run my long slider fingers over each framed angle, checking where each light particle comes from. Leaving nothing to chance, I observe my hand in the light. My usually callused palms are smooth, almost untouched. It's been far too long since I've picked up a paintbrush. Considering there was a time when my father couldn't beat a paintbrush out of them. Back when the only fame I had had come from my family name and not my artistic genius.

With a huff, I throw myself down on the cold and unforgiving iron bench that sits in front of the main exhibit, where soon my "Mona Lisa" will hang. Exhaustion is setting in. I've been on the road for far too long. So many cities, way too many days, I don't even remember the last time I slept in my own bed. If it wasn't Caleb Smallwood, my assistant, I don't believe I'd grasp what city I'm in half the time. Let alone what day of the week it is.

Today being the exception, because today for the first time in months I'm well aware of what city I'm in. And It's the one city that I've avoided through almost my whole tour. Hell, It's the one city that I've avoided since I graduated and moved away nearly ten years ago. However, everyone has debts that they owe and I owe a huge one to my dear friend Caroline Forbes. The fact that she's still my friend after everything means I'd walk into hell for her. Which is pretty much what I'm doing if my family finds out I'm here.

"If you're worried about the lighting, don't be." The smallest, softest, sweetest voice ever calls from over my shoulder.

"What would you comprehend about lighting?" Without looking over to see who she is, I fire back. Way harsher then I need too. But I'm tired, hungry and to frustrated for my own good. I'm lashing out and anyone in whipping distance had better beware. I should be resting today, instead of looking for flaws in a last minute gallery exhibit. "Just because they let you walk around in these places and gaze at the fancy pictures," my tone is both sarcastic and patronizing. "Doesn't make you an art critic," My head peers over my shoulder but my eyes stay closed, overly pleased with myself. I'm gloating on the inside already. "That'd be like saying you're a professor because they let you in a library." I smirk, opening my eyes, dumbfounded by the gorgeous creature standing in front of me.

"I'm sorry," she replies. Her voice just as feathery soft as it was before I started hurling insults at her. She holds her hand out, "Let me introduce myself. I'm Lena Gilbert." I'm rendered speechless. I'm completely unsure how to approach her after coming off in such a harsh manner. I can't help but stare at the petite hand, held out in front of me. Not because there's anything special about the tiny object, but because when my eyes move up it, it leads to the most flawless face I've ever seen. Without a drop of makeup, It's still more beautiful than anything I've ever painted. "Gallery owner and if NYU has anything to say about," she leans in for effect, drawing her hand away from me, "art critic."

Her features are still soft, her tone as if nothing I'd said affected her. "No, I'm sorry," I stammer, jerking to my feet in the most inelegant manner, "That was rude right now, I apologize." I direct my hands behind me as if the asshole that I am is still back there. "I must have been mistaken. I thought this was Caroline Forbes' gallery?"

"No, no mistake." I catch the shrill voice of that is Caroline Forbes. "Lena," a hint of overly dramatic shock in her voice, which I'm well acquainted with. "What are you doing here?" Caroline questions the small brunette. Her soft round features, harden a touch.

"What are you talking about? You called me ten minutes ago and said there was an emergency." Caroline looks at Lena and back at me, totally pouting. The brunette turns on me. "It was nice to have met you, Mr. Salvatore. Wish it were on different terms. I'm sure you can Caroline have this all worked out." She extends her hand and this time, I don't miss the opportunity to touch her. The moment her soft hand leaves mine, I want it back. Her touch is electric, not like shock. But it's like static electricity shot straight to my nether region. "I'll see you Friday at the club, Caroline." She walks passed the blonde without so much as a hand shake. Nothing more than the verbal I'll see you Friday.

"Wait!" Caroline shouts at her as soon as she made her way passed, "you're not coming to the opening tonight?" She trots after her; her heels clicking on the tile floor. "Hold on Damon. Give me a minute. I'll be right back." She holds up one finger, getting to Lena before she makes it around the corner.

I can overhear the younger female speaking firmly to Caroline. Nothing like that feathery light voice of earlier. She's not yelling at her, or raising her voice. _It_ has this sternness to it, like she's scolding a child. I watch from the corner of my eye, trying not to make eye contact with either of the women. I moved around the gallery, closer to the females. I can't understand what has her so upset. Even after I laid into her, she stayed so pleasant. I honestly thought that nothing could piss this woman off, if I couldn't do it. Lena shakes her head and heads around the corner. Toward the back exit I assume. Caroline turns back to me. Her eyes are down cast, like she's been shamed.

I plop down on another iron bench. This one is facing the front of the gallery. It sits directly in front of the only painting still on exhibit in the currently empty gallery. It's a beautiful painting of an opened window, looking out onto the ocean pier. What draws me in isn't the sunset, the waves, or the detail in the pier. It's the small figure standing on the end of the pier. I don't understand why, but she seems to be what the whole painting is about. It's breath-taking. "Your gallery isn't in trouble is it?" I ask Caroline, patting the seat next to me. My eyes remain fixated on the tiny figure in the painting.

She lowers her head, nodding it back and forth. "No," she says with a huff.

"Then why am I here? I'm tired Care. I didn't need an extra stop added to my tour. What I need is rest. If you needed to see me, to talk to me, you could have met up with me in New Jersey." She wouldn't look me in the eyes. She leaned her head into my shoulder, picking imaginary lint from my jeans. "You don't need to make things up to see me. If you don't need my help…"

"I do!" She cut me off, sitting straighter. "Well, I kind of do. I just, I needed you here. I couldn't go to New Jersey, it wouldn't have worked. You had to be here."

"What, why here? What's going on? Is it your partner? She is your partner right? She said she was a gallery owner, but she didn't say this gallery." My thoughts wander off to what Lena had said exactly to me. "Do you want out? Does she want you out? Caroline! Will you talk to me?"

"Yes, she's my partner. God, no I don't want out. I would never, ever leave Lena." I let out a deep sign, unsure of why I'm truly here. All I know is that I'm tired and getting crankier by the minute. "Ask her to be your date to the opening tonight?" Caroline spews as quickly as she can, clinching my arm a little tighter.

"What? Come on Caroline. There is no way that you brought me all the way into the city to hook me up with your friend?" Her eyes don't meet mine. "You should realize better than anyone, that's not a good idea."

"Still can't keep it in your pants?" She laughs, shouldering me a little.

She looks at me through the curtain of blonde hair that's fallen over her eyes. "My assistant is a dude because I can't keep any chicks employed longer than a week. If I fuck them they quit because they want more. If I don't fuck them they quit because they think I'm being an ass."

"Which one won out?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is my assistant is a guy. Let's leave it at that."

She puts her head back against my shoulder. "I bet you lost a majority because you couldn't keep it in your pants."

"And you'd win that bet, that's why I'd never take it." I tell her, rolling my eyes but she can't see because her head is downcast. "What is it?" I nudge her. "You can tell me, I'm here to help."

"I can't…." She says shaking her head against my shoulder.

"Well, since you're not going to tell me why I'm really here and it's too late to back out of the opening. We might as well get started." I stand raising my hands high above my head, causing my shirt to rise up over the edge of my pants.

"Please, Damon. I've seen all of you that I ever want to see. Let's keep this PG." She snorts, tugging the hem of my shirt down.

"As if anyone could ever get enough of this," I say as smug as I can. Caroline rolls her eyes at me. I study the gallery, taking in everything that I've seen. "She's right about the lighting, it's flawless. I've never seen it this perfect, in any of the other galleries I've shown in. Except for the sunlight that shines through that window," I point but Caroline doesn't bother to regard me.

"Night shows only," she says. "The two days your art will be here, the gallery will only be open in the evening. She wanted everything to be perfect."

She doesn't look back, she keeps moving towards the back of the gallery. "She knew I'd be showing here?"

"Of course," she says.

"Then that wasn't what she was upset about when you got here?" She shakes her head and keeps moving down the long narrow halls. "Is she familiar with my work? Is she aware of what pieces I'll be showing? Is she worried about the backlash that the gallery may receive?" Caroline nods and opens a big red door at the end of the hall. "Does my work offend her?"

She laughs, like I just said the funniest thing in the world. "God no, she loves your work. That's why I tricked you into coming." Caroline's hand flies to her mouth. "Lena wouldn't allow me to book you when you first started your tour."

"Caroline!"

"I know, I know. Okay, I told her about the falling out you had with your mom. It was a long time ago. One, I didn't think she would remember and two, I never actually thought that you'd become some big famous painter."

"And that's why she was pissed?"

"Yes, no, yes…. She was pissed because I told her there was an emergency when there wasn't. Only because I wanted her to get to meet you, I thought that if she met you than it would change her mind on coming to the opening tonight. But…. But if you ask her to be your date, then she'll come for sure."

"Care, there is nothing and I mean nothing that I'd rather do then bring that gorgeous creature to the opening. But Care, she's your friend and we both know it won't end well. And when it ends because we both know it will end, it will make thinks tense between you and me. Look, it's no secret that I don't do relationships. I'm a fuck them and leave them kind a guy."

"That's why you're perfect. Lena doesn't do relationships either." She made little air quotes with her fingers when she said the word relationship. "I've known her for a long time and I've never seen her date anyone. You can check. Do an internet search or whatever on her. You'll see she hasn't dated anyone in the last eight years or at least not publicly."

"Great so now you want to hook me up with a female version of me. You're sure we're friends right? Not still on the outs from everything that happen before." I raise my eyebrow at her. "Is this some revenge plot? I hurt you, now you hurt me?"

Right at that moment both the truck that holds my painting and Caleb pull up into the alley way. "This isn't done." I tell her, pointing my finger in her direction. "Caleb, this is Caroline. Caroline, Caleb. Caroline don't get any ideas he's gay." I inform her, right in front of Caleb.

"Oh, so you're still sleeping with them, you changed what team you play for." Caroline says, laughing.

"No." I tell her and turn my attention to Caleb. I hand him a lay out of the gallery, mark with what painting goes where. "Here you go. Make sure that Ben puts Valentine in the front window. He'll have to…"

"No!" Caroline shouts, ""Pier Pressure" does not come down or get moved."

"It's you; you're the figure on the end of the pier?" I tell her, looking her up and down. "Who's the artist?"

"No one," she pouts.

"Oh, so no one painted that beautiful picture of you?"

"It doesn't matter. It's doesn't get moved."

"Fine," I say throwing my hands in the air. "You heard the lady the painting stays. There's an easel in the far back of the truck, you can use that for the extra painting."

"Sure thing," Caleb says. "It was a pleasure to finally meet you." He tells Caroline. He tries to shake her hand, but Care is more of a hugger. She draws him in squeezing him tight.

"Thank you for getting him here." I hear her tell him low enough that she thinks I can't hear her.

"Come on Care, gay remember." I drag her away from my assistant. Caleb and Ben have enough work to do without Caroline yakking their ear off. "Besides you need to drive me to the hotel."

"Fine." She shrugs, heading back down the narrow hall. I chose to plop down on a chair by the back door and pray that she's parked out back.


	2. Two steps forward, three steps back

_**Note:**_ Thank you, for taking the time to read my story. And thank you to those of you that left a review. I know the first chapter was a little hard to leave a review on, but not all stories can start out with the characters fucking in the first chapter. I love you all and thank you. Please know that I don't have a beta, I am doing this all on my own with the help of an on-line editor. Don't hesitate to point out eras or corrections that need to be made. Even if it has to do with writing style, I won't be offended. If you read this story and it doesn't interest you, maybe shot me a PM and let me know why? Thanks again, happy reading.

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Chapter 2

Two steps forward, three steps back

They say that curiosity killed the cat, let's hope in my case that statement's not true or that I at least have nine lives. Because sitting alone in my hotel suite, waiting on room service, my curiosity is getting the better of me.

My laptop is open and placed firmly atop my legs, boots propped up on the coffee table setting in front of me. I type Lena Gilbert into the Google search engine. I don't even get past the G in Gilbert and her name floods the search mod. Lena Gilbert, Lena Gilbert Charity, Lena Gilbert's boyfriend, the list goes on and on. I guess the girl is a lot more popular than I realized. I scroll down to boyfriend, the mouse icon dances over it. See, she does or did have a special someone, if it's on Google it is true, Google is never wrong, right? That's what I keep telling myself.

"What am I doing?" I mumble out loud to no one. My head falls back on leather couch. I don't care who she dates, if she dates. I don't date so it doesn't matter. And just because she doesn't do committed either doesn't mean that I'm going to go and fuck her. It will make things awkward with Caroline, I tell myself, slamming the lid down on my laptop.

I close my eyes and I see her, that small waist, those wide hips and her killer doe eyes. How is a girl like that single? It doesn't make sense, I sleep with hot chick but they're not always single and when they are, it is because they're fucking crazy. Like a child sneaking into his father's room to look at his porn, I fling the laptop open, her name is still fills the search screen. I click on Lena Gilbert's boyfriend.

There are a hundred articles with her name in the header. All linking her to one man and one man only. Like the link is going to disappear I quickly click on an attached picture of the two. He's a tall, slender gentleman. Dressed well and well-groomed. His hand is placed on her lower back, out of sight of the photographers. The title reads "Lena Gilbert and Elijah Smith Spotted on the Town Again". However the story goes on to read that despite rumors that the two were a pair, both parties are refuting it, affirming that the two are long time friends and business partners.

I click the link attached which moves me to anarticles about their business. It's an exposes on the club that they own. I'm assuming it's the club that she told Caroline she would see her at on Friday. The piece is about an accident that occurred at their club "The Annex" last year. I remember hearing about this. I scroll through the article, a girl supposedly suffocated in the club. No one could understand how or why and the police closed the case immediately. The girl's family wasn't happy with their finding and wanted more information. It says here that they were planning to sue both Mr. Smith and Mrs. Gilbert. That was over a year ago. I search for more information on the case but nothing else shows up on the matter.

The rest of the articles are love, to love her stories. Not a bad word written about the woman, she's charitable, sweet as all hell, and employees enough people to run a small country. She graduated from NYU with honors at the age of twenty-one, according to her Wikipedia page. Says nothing about family or earlier education, I'm guessing she didn't come from money and worked her way up. I'm positive that she wants to keep her upcoming a secret because she's not proud of it.

Image after image of her, Caroline was right. No men, no dates, none other than that Mr. Smith fellow. He appears in photos as far back as I can find them, all the way back to when her name really starts to get circulated. It seems as though he was DR. Elijah Smith back then. Curiosity getting the better of me once again, two lives down, seven to go, I pull up the link attached to his name.

He's the more settled of the two. it seems when her name isn't attached no one really pays him any mind. He appears to like it that way. It says in one of the article that he gave up his license to practice psychology back in 2006. After allegedly having an affair with one of patients, no name is cited. I wonder if Lena was one of his patients, I wonder if she was the patient, perhaps that's why they're so close. It looks like they went into business together immediately after.

My brain is starting to feel like it's melting, I'm far too tired to try to put this together. I close the laptop and lean my head back against the couch. God, I wish this tour was over more than anything. Togo home to my condo in Los Angeles, and wrap myself up in a mindless beauty or two.

Two minutes, two minutes of silence is all I want. But you would believe the building is on fire with all the banging going on. Damn, don't they know I'm exhausted and I merely closed my eyes two minutes ago? But the exclusive banging won't quit.

I run my hand over my face and toss my laptop on the couch next to me. A huge yawn escapes me and I stretch my arm over my head. When my eyes finally come into focus, I notice that my room is pitch black. "Shit!" I scrabble looking all around me for my phone. "Dead, shit." Something tells me I fell asleep for longer than two minutes and I am now completely aware that that intrusive pounding is coming from my door.

"Would you hold on a second?" I yell. I stumble to my feet, doing my best to get oriented to the dark. My door continues to take a beating. "Hold on I said," I shout at the annoying intruder. I swing the door open. I intend to give whoever is on the other side one hell of a tongue lashing. But I'm floored when I see a petite brunette standing there instead of my assistant, Caleb.

"You're late," her voice is smooth, unaffected by my tardiness. A large man standing beside to her supplies her with a garment bag and she pushes her way into my room. I smile at the large gentleman with the crew-cut and a suit nicer than the one I'll be wearing tonight. Stepping out of his way, I swing my arm in the direction of my open door. He shakes his head and continues to stand next to my door, hands tucked neatly in front of him.

"Eric, we'll just be twenty minutes, tops." Lena yells from inside my hotel room.

"I guess we'll be twenty minutes." I tell him, dipping my head to him.

"Caroline is going to kill you," she laughs, handing me the garment bag she walked in with. She glides her way through my room like she owns the place. She taps all the lights as she goes, with a stop next to a little cart that wasn't there when I fell asleep. Room service must have dropped it of while I was knocked out. She picks up the silver lid and begins picking at a piece of bacon. "You need to shower," stating the all too obvious.

"Thank you for the wake-up call. I assure you I'm a big boy. I can shower, shave and find my way to the gallery all on my own. This isn't my first rodeo," I inform her. "And I have my own wardrobe. So thanks but no thanks." I drop the bag on the chair next to her.

"Shower, yes." She looks me over. "Shave, no. A little scruff is good now and then." Lena abandons the food cart and moves to the opposite side of the room. "Wardrobe, I'm sure but I'm also sure that you never unpacked it and I'm positive it's a wrinkled mess." Her hips sway in a way that should be illegal, the way her body moves so smoothly in her simple black slacks and white blouse. I'm torn between watching her move around my suite and pushing her against the wall, just so that her body will stop teasing me. "As to finding your way to the gallery, I'm sure you can. But if you arrive with me, the talk will be focused elsewhere and not on the fact that you tardy and getting tardier by the second." I don't know what's more infuriating, the way she talks to me likes she's reprimanding a child or the way she looks when she does it. "We don't have all day Mr. Salvatore." She glances over her shoulder at me, tugging the heavy, thick, gray curtains open, showcasing the New York City skyline.

I don't move, I can't, I can't take my eyes off of her. "This really is one of my favorite rooms. It has the best view of the city lights." She's stayed in this room? Does she stay here a lone, why would she? She lives in the city, doesn't she? Maybe she is like me, she really doesn't date. Never brings them home, or out to dinner, only to rooms like this. I'm getting hard imagining her here I in my room, on the couch, in that bed, in my fucking shower, that window, her naked body pressed against that window, the city lights glowing behind her.

"Mr. Salvatore, whatever mischief is running through that baffling brain of yours, you need to save for later because Caroline is going to castrate you if you don't move it." She's defiantly one of those chicks that would put my most prized possession on the line.

Two steps forward, two steps back. She's gazing out the window her hand pressed firmly against the cool glass, as if she could reach out and touch the city. "Have dinner with me tonight, after the show?" I blurt out. I guess the pep talk I was giving myself about not being that into her, did me no good.

Lena lets out a laugh, like I said the funniest thing in the world. "I don't date Mr. Salvatore and let's be frank, neither do you."

"I'm not asking for a date." I take two more steps towards her. Her hand falls from the window, leaving a heated impression of where it once lied. Is she running hot, perhaps as turned on by the possibility of me, as I am at possibility of her? "Come on what's dinner? I'm already escorting you to my event tonight, why not dinner after?"

"You assume that because I came here to save you from the wrath of Caroline, that you're now my escort for the evening?" Her head tilted back a smidge when she laughed this time. "You're sadly mistaken Mr. Salvatore. I'm simply driving you, or more Eric is driving us. I'm not your date, nor are you my escort, far from it. I am simply a means to keeping everyone happy. You don't seem like an amateur showing up late to your own exhibit and I keep Caroline from going in-sane."

I don't like the way she is looking me up and down. As if she was too good for me. I'm not a scrub, I didn't crawl my way out of the gutters like most artist. I wasn't below her, if anything she was below me. My father and his father before him helped build this city, made it what it is. Without their money and name most of these buildings wouldn't even be standing. It finally hit me, she's a snob. She chooses to keep her dates secluded, tied to places like this instead of public outings because she thinks she's too good to be seen with anyone.

"Ouch!" I reply, walking away. "My mistake," I throw my hands in the air and head for the shower. My travel kit spills out across the bathroom counter when I tug it open. Reflecting back on what Lena had just said. "A little scruff is good," I shake my head. "Fuck you and your scruff." I spray a small amount of the green foam in my hand, smearing it against my chin. With a big fuck you. I dragged the cold silver blade across the soft flesh under my jaw. When I'm done feel liberated.

I turn the knob on the shower. I don't wait for it to get hot, in fact the colder the better right now. I need to freeze the vision of a naked Lena standing in my shower out of my head. But the more I tried the deeper she pushed inside, becoming even clearer. With a deep sigh, I let my forehead fall against the cold, wet tiles of the shower wall. My eyes flickering down to my fully erect penis, "So, not what you need at this moment, Salvatore." I can't do it. I shake my head against the cool tile. I can't I keep telling myself over and over. The thought of her in the next room should be deterring me but it's not, it's causing me to get harder.

Weighing my options, go all night hard and uncomfortable or give in to five minutes of pleasure but go all night knowing that I pleased myself with her in the next room. I close my eyes and let my mind wander, along with my hand. The only one who will even know is me. I'm quiet when I masturbate. Not that I have to do it often, but she won't hear me or know any different. My strokes become smoother, covering my shaft in long, bottom to top strokes. The vision of her standing naked in my shower returns. She's watching me caress myself, biting her bottom lip.

Only her ass and shoulder blades are touching the shower wall, her back arching out to me. She's so far away but I can hear her panting as I fondle myself a little rougher. Her legs fall apart just enough for her to snake her hand in-between, her head lolls back, and a soft moan exits her slightly parted lips.

I bit back my own moan, watching, and listening to her fingers sink further inside her moist lips. Her opposite hand comes up and tweaks her left breast, clasping the pink pebbling nipple in-between her tiny fingers and twisting just enough to cause her face to contort.

I'm done, relieving myself in both my hand and on the shower wall. I don't think I've every cum so hard while masturbating. The image of her touching herself was so vivid, so real. I almost thought I could smell the essence of her arousal filing the small room but when I opened my eyes I'm alone.

Once out of the shower and towel dried, I glance quickly around the room. Where was the garment bag? Damn I must have left it in the other room, with her. I had two options, I could put back on my dirty clothes and go out there to get the bag or I could go out in the towel, show her I what she's missing. I went with number two, I had nothing to hide.

And apparently neither did she because when I exited the bathroom, there she is her bare back naked to me, draped in nothing but the light that filled the room. There she is standing in front of the open window for all of New York City to see, she inched a red satin dress up over her hips. With ever tug of the dress more and more of her skin disappeared.

The gentlemen that waited outside must have had a garment bag for her that I hadn't seen because she didn't find that dress in my room. "Do you mind?" Her eyes lock with mine in the window, her voice notifying me that I'm staring. But it didn't seem as though she was hiding from the rest of New York, so why should I look away, but I do at once. My mind is racing, the guilt of what I had just done in the next room. The new, real image that was fresh in my mind of her naked and not so bare skin.

I want to peek again and not just to see her skin but to see the tattoo that covers it. Were they angel wings? "Mr. Salvatore, do you mind?" She repeated. I don't know what she wants. Does she want me to return to the bathroom, until she's dressed? What the hell. This is my room. If she didn't want me to see her, she could have waited till I finished and used the restroom to dress. "Please Mr. Salvatore, don't make me beg." Her voice feathery soft and it made me anything but soft.

Lena looks over her shoulder at me, dragging her hair away from the zipper. "Can you zip me please?" My legs moved far faster than I intended them to and I got way closer than I wanted. "No touching Mr. Salvatore," She said, squaring her shoulders back towards the window.

I want to touch her. There's nothing that I want more in this very moment. The glance she gave me over her should, it is like she is beckoning me. Using just the tips of my fingers, I tugged the zipper up, slower her tattooed skin disappeared from my sight. She turns, coming face to face with me, stepping even closer to me then she already was. "You should really take care of that." Her gaze drops to my once again fully erect nether region.

"I thought I did," I say without thinking. Her eyes don't move or shy away from me or the tent that's now formed in the front of my towel.

"It looks like it's going to be an awfully long and uncomfortable night for you," she utters.

"Unt-un," I murmur right back. I yank her body flush with mine, my mouth crushing into hers before she can say another word. I'm not going to give her another chance to say no, I wanted her to show me she doesn't want me. Before I could take control of the kiss, she pushes her tongue into my mouth and takes over. I'm melting into her, never has a woman taking so much from me and in seconds her lips were gone and I felt the harsh smack of her palm connecting with my cheek.

"The next time you attempt to kiss me, I had better be begging for it," she declared. Her back stiff and I know that tone. It's the same one she used on Caroline at the Gallery. "You have five-minute to be dressed and down stairs," she moves through the hotel room. "And I believe I instructed you not to shave," she says slamming the door behind her.

Instructed, what the fuck? She kissed me back. I felt it and she said next time. "Next time I attempt to kiss her, she had better be begging for it," I repeated her statement. So there will be a next time. I'm so fucking confused, the only thing I know one hundred percent is that I couldn't possibly get any harder than I was at this very moment.


End file.
